


We're all a little weird, and life's a little weird

by RedWritingHood



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Gen, I like to think I'm funny, batfamily, completely ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 19:24:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12464277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedWritingHood/pseuds/RedWritingHood
Summary: Bruce blindly grabs for a mug and pours himself some coffee. The mug has 'Pretty And Peppy!' printed on it in pink, with sparkles twinkling all around it. Bruce seems not to either notice or care. He drops into a chair at the table and slumps there, staring sightlessly into the black liquid steaming from his cup."Good morning to you, too," Dick says.





	We're all a little weird, and life's a little weird

  
Bruce trudges into the kitchen in nothing but a pair of sweat pants, which isn't that unusual. Dick is used to seeing copious amounts of Bruce's skin, and is thus unfazed. Heck, this is nothing compared to the tiny shorts he trains in.

Bruce blindly grabs for a mug and pours himself some coffee. The mug has 'Pretty And Peppy!' printed on it in pink, with sparkles twinkling all around it. Bruce seems not to either notice or care. He drops into a chair at the table and slumps there, staring sightlessly into the black liquid steaming from his cup.

"Good morning to you, too," Dick says.

Bruce makes a sound, vaguely groan-like, completely unintelligible.

Cass reaches across the table to pat his shoulder consolingly.

Finally, Bruce musters enough willpower to raise the cup to his mouth and sip. Despite, perhaps, what little dim hope he had, it doesn't appear to rejunevate any particular feeling in him.

"What's with you?" Jason asks. He then ignores the person he directed his question at and turns to Tim. "What's with him?"

"I think he's regretting pretty much everything right now," Tim replies.

"That's nothing new."

Bruce's response is a grunt that could, if you really used your imagination, conceivably sound like 'shut up.' That, or 'duck coupon.'

"Wow," Dick says, watching Bruce, "you have no life in you at all, do you?"

Bruce manages a glare.

"Shh," Cass soothes.

If possible, Bruce slumps even further. ". . . Pass me the cream."

"You know, you only use cream when you're attempting to make up for your lack of a soul."

"Dick."

Dick slides the carton across the table. "Okay, but don't be surprised when you don't magically gain a heart after drinking this."

"You're the reason I'm going prematurely gray," Bruce says.

"There's one thing wrong with that statement," Dick notes. "You are going gray, but it's not premature."

"Ooh," Jason says. "Burn."

"Cass is my favorite," says Bruce.

Cass smiles. "Thanks . . . old man."

Bruce dumps a load of cream in his coffee, "I take it back. None of you are my favorite. I have no one. You're all terrible, and I'm alone in the world."

From the doorway, Alfred clears his throat, raising an eyebrow. "If you're finished reenacting your teenage years, Master Bruce, I believe you have a visitor."

"I'm not home," says Bruce, at the same time that Clark steps forward and asks, "Am I interrupting something?"

There's an awkward pause, and then Bruce says, "Yes."

"Master Bruce," Alfred butlers disapprovingly.

Dick waves. "Hi, Clark."

"Hello, Dick."

Bruce does not pout. He scowls. Intimidatingly. "Fine. Come in."

"Bad day?" Clark inquires, walking into the room.

"Well, you're here . . ." Bruce hints.

Alfred is silently disappointed that the man-child he's raised from kiddy years to adulthood is an awful person.

"Be quiet, Alfred," Bruce says.

"I spoke not a word, Master Bruce."

"Perry wants me to get an interview from you and have it written down by Monday," Clark says.

"Make something up."

"I can't do that," Clark protests. "Well, I could, but I pride myself on being an actual journalist."

"Last week, I mistook a goat for my girlfriend of the month and took it out for dinner at the most expensive seafood restaurant I could find and a show at the D'Artagnon Theatre, where they were having an I Love Lucy marathon. The goat and I had a great time."

"Seriously?"

"No, but it looks good on paper and it makes money."

"It does not look good on paper."

"You're right, it looks terrible, but that's the point."

"I can't print that," Clark says. "It's too weird. _You're_ too weird."

"So are you," Bruce responds.

"I'm an alien. What's your excuse?"

"I'm Bruce Wayne."

". . . I can't believe that's a valid counterargument."

Bruce grunts and grips his coffee mug.

"You know what, I can see that it's too early for you to have a soul yet . . ."

"Why do people keep saying that."

". . . So I'm just going to schedule you in for noon on Wednesday and we'll talk then, okay?"

"Unless I'm dead."

"Don't die," Clark suggests in a threateningly pleasant tone.

"Fine."

"See you later."

"Not if I can help it," Bruce mutters under his breath.

"I heard that," Clark calls back.

Bruce takes a drink of his coffee and then spits it out.

"Do you want some coffee with that cream, B?" Jason asks gleefully.

"You deserved that," Dick says.

"Here are some paper towels and the sponge." Alfred sets them on the table, away from the spill. "Clean up your mess."

"I'm disowning you all and adopting hamsters instead."

"There, there." Cass pats his head. "Grumpy cinnamon roll."

"I'm not a cinnamon roll," he grumbles.

"Grumpy cactus, then," Cass replies. "Stab, stab."

Jason snorts. "This is the best."

" _You're_ the best," Bruce replies viciously.

"Nice comeback there, Bruce," Dick says. "We love you, too."

Alfred drops the sponge in Bruce's hand. "Wash."

Bruce does. Then, while he's cleaning, Jason deliberately dirties the table some more, and Bruce decides that Jason's face and neck need some washing. It devolves into chaos from there. The anarchy only ends when the dirty washcloth is thrown in the midst of battle and accidentally smacks Alfred on the shoulder, leaving a wet, sticky patch on his suit.

There's silence. Then Jason says, "Oh, shi--"

Tim bolts, his chair clattering on the floor as he flees. Dick follows after him.

Cass is already gone.

Jason's eyes dart towards the window.

Bruce slowly stands up.

" _Master Jason. Master Bruce._ "

Neither of them escape. On the other hand, the entire kitchen gets an immaculate scrubbing, and there's never another dishrag war ever again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Never mess with Alfred Pennyworth. He's the goddarn Butler. Title taken, of course, from the Honorable Dr. Seuss. "We're all a little weird, and life's a little weird, and we come together in mutual weirdness and call it love."
> 
> Also, if you're wondering where Damian is, he's in the cave, feeding his animals. He completely missed Bruce's moment(s) of indignity, but not to worry, I'm sure there's plenty more to come.
> 
> Not at all, I actually like Bruce quite a bit. Why?


End file.
